


The Importance of Cheesecake and Basic Human Decency

by Madlyie



Series: The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bahorel is actually a giant teddy bear, F/M, M/M, Nobody is perfect except Feuilly, not that Montparnasse would admit it, with a great fashion sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7369930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Increasingly smug bakers and disgustingly adorable couples are not exactly things that make working at a coffee shop a lot more bearable. Actually, if someone was asking Montparnasse about his opinion, he’d gladly point out, they make things a whole lot worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Cheesecake and Basic Human Decency

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is already Part IV, this was supposed to be like, a cute little one-shot thing but oh well, I guess here we are. I'd suggest reading the other parts before this because we're at the point where some things might not really make sense otherwise. Enjoy! ♥

 

***

 

Courfeyrac says that since they’re employees at a coffee shop they’re not only paid for making coffee but also for being friendly to customers and because Montparnasse is pretty much convinced that about fifty percent of the things Courfeyrac says are made up there’s a good chance that applies in this case as well.  

Honestly, people come into coffee shops to get their coffee or their Triple-Venti-Half-Sweet-Non-Fat-Caramel-Macchiato with sprinkles, so that’s what he’s going to do, sometimes even _without_ complaining and only the occasional glare which is already a really great effort.  

The door opens and the obnoxious ring of the doorbell is joined by Courfeyrac’s enthusiastic chime of, “Good morning!”

Montparnasse can’t decide which of those two things is more annoying. He doesn’t look up, elegantly leaning against the counter and critically inspecting his nail polish, until the new arrival returns Courfeyrac’s welcome with a warm chuckle. “Good morning.”

Montparnasse’s head snaps up.

He stares, stares a little longer then says, “You look like a fucking lumberjack.”

It feels appropriate.

“Parnasse!” Courfeyrac squeaks. “You can’t just say that!”

He runs a hand through his hair and turns to the man in his red flannel and washed out jeans. “I am _so_ sorry, he’s an absolute nuisance in the morning, I don’t even know why they keep letting him in here.”

The man chuckles again. His eyes crinkle. “Oh, it’s alright.”

Courfeyrac looks relieved but Montparnasse doesn’t really pay attention to him because a second later he has stepped around the corner and crashed the man into a hug. He buries his face in a flannel-clad shoulder. It smells like pinewood and honey. Or whatever.  

“Okay, _what the fuck_ is happening?”

He ignores Courfeyrac but Montparnasse can feel a laugh against his shoulder.

“Shut up,” he says even though it comes out a bit muffled by the fabric.

The arms around him tighten a little.

“Sap,” he hears, amused, against his ear.

“Shut up.” A little louder.

Another laugh.

Eventually he has to let go to breathe.

 

Courfeyrac looks like he has seen the eighth world wonder. His eyes are a little glazed.

 

“I don’t know who you are,” he says, “but I respect you. And if I didn’t have an amazing, beautiful boyfriend I think I might have just fallen in love with you.”

“Yeah, same,” Grantaire agrees. He must have woken up at some point during the last minute because he still looks kind of sleepy and hungover or maybe that’s just the awe.

Montparnasse rolls his eyes but it’s more half-heartedly than most of the times.

“That’s Feuilly.”

“Hi,” Feuilly says with half a wave while Courfeyrac and Grantaire stare at him.

Courfeyrac is the first one to get his act back together and enthusiastically grabs Feuilly’s hand shaking it in an indistinctly over-excited puppy manner.

“Alright. Okay.” His voice is a little bit shrill. “It’s so great to meet you! I’m Courfeyrac, that’s Grantaire, wow. I’m just- wow.”

And because Feuilly is - sadly - a nice person contrary to Montparnasse he smiles like getting his arm shaken out of its socket is one of his favourite free time activities, that moron.

“Yeah, I thought so. Parnasse always talks about the lot of you.”

Montparnasse initial feeling that he might, possibly, in a very good moment would have called something like joy at Feuilly’s appearance dims drastically.

Courfeyrac blinks. “He does the what about the who now?”

“Well, complains, mostly but you know,” Feuilly says while Courfeyrac eventually seems to become aware of the fact that he is still shaking his hand.

“I’m kind of stuck on the part where someone would put ‘Parnasse’ and ‘talks’ in one sentence,” Grantaire comments. “ _Without_ negation.”

Feuilly laughs again while Montparnasse glares at Grantaire.

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.”

Grantaire shrugs like he always does in a way that makes Montparnasse want to kick him or shake him or shout at him to use his goddamn words, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with that most of the times too, why does he have to fucking shrug all the time, what is that even supposed to mean, it’s a weird yes-no-hybrid, you don’t know what it means until someone uses words, it’s like Schroedinger’s shrug, goddammit.

He really does hate it when other people do that.

He turns to Feuilly because Montparnasse hasn’t seen Feuilly’s face for long enough that it’s not making him annoyed yet. “You could have told me you were coming back already, I would have picked you up at the airport. Or you know, whatever.”

“It’s alright, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Montparnasse snorts in a way that hopefully conveys the notion of, ‘Idiot.’

Courfeyrac clears his throat.

“So…..,” he starts sounding annoyingly interested and delighted at the same time. “How do you two know each other?”

Feuilly looks at Courfeyrac, at Montparnasse, back at Courfeyrac and smiles. “Oh, he’s my brother.”

Courfeyrac’s jaw drops in a way that makes Montparnasse wonder for a moment if it’s possible to dislocate a jaw without punching someone in the face. Grantaire blinks.  

“Foster brother,” Montparnasse adds mostly just to be difficult but Feuilly simply waves him off.

“Technicalities.”

Montparnasse rolls his eyes but doesn’t object because, well. It’s not like he’s wrong there.

Eventually he turns back to the counter and asks, “Americano?”

Feuilly smiles. “Yeah, thank you.”

He might have even smiled back. Just a little. While turning his back to everyone else but Courfeyrac manages to catch a glimpse of it and shakes his head.

“I’m just,” he says and stops. Shakes his head. “I’m just going to sit down for a while.”

And he does. Right where he’s standing.

And because it feels like a triumph Montparnasse doesn’t even take the glorious opportunity to kick him on the way to the coffee machine.

 

***

 

“I think,” Grantaire says pensively, “I _should_ be jealous… but I feel like if I knew what he’s talking about I’d look exactly like that too.”

Feuilly sits at one of the table at the back gesturing in a way that is at the same time humble yet animated, his hair kind of looks like a red, setting sun in the light shining through the window and Enjolras stares at him with an expression that Montparnasse can’t quite place because it seems somewhere between awe and being about to cry.

“Yeah, same,” Combeferre agrees from where he sits at the counter and doesn’t clarify which part he means but Montparnasse has the distinct feeling it might be both.

Courfeyrac seems to think the same because he pats Combeferre’s hand. “I accept the platonic marriage of the two of you.”

Combeferre turns to Courfeyrac with a soft expression on his face that makes Montparnasse want to wipe it off his face only that he would probably cut himself on the sharpness of that beautiful bastard’s cheekbones.

“Come on, you’re practically as married, Enjolras adores you.”

“Well, he adores you more.”

“No, he adores you more.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

“No,-”

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Montparnasse snaps. “Would you shut up?”

They look at each and for the untrained eye it might have seemed sheepish but Montparnasse knows far too well that it means he’s not going to take the risk of going into the kitchen for the rest of the day.

Fortunately that’s the moment when the door opens and Gavroche storms inside followed by Jehan, in a much more measured pace.

Usually this would be the point where some kind of pastry manifests itself in Gavroche’s hand - and Montparnasse does certainly not have a part in that alright - but this time the boy’s whole face lights up as he runs right past the counter.

“FEUILLY!!!”

Feuilly has about two seconds before he is almost knocked out of his chair by a twelve-year-old. Enjolras startles at the shout like he forgot there are other people in the world.

Jehan calmly walks up to the counter, a smile playing around the corner of their mouth.

“He’s back?” They say and it sounds more like a statement than a question.

Parnasse allows his lips to twitch into a small smile as well that is only for Jehan to see. “Yeah, he is.”

“Wait, you know Feuilly?” Courfeyrac pipes up and Jehan shrugs, a little, unconsciously elegant thing that makes their braid slide off their shoulder.

“Sure, we met before he left for this voluntary aid program in Kosovo and then the last time he came back to visit before he went to, what was it, Liberia?”

“Bolivia,” Montparnasse says. “Liberia was before that.”

“Right.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre let out a dreamy twin-sigh that is actually much more disturbing than Gavroche’s high pitched giggles. It’s all kind of loud.

 

“Why the fuck is it so fucking loud?” Bahorel shouts.

 

He steps out of the kitchen with a spoon that he somehow manages to hold threateningly and perfectly rolled up sleeves which. Is a thing Montparnasse definitely hates. As well as about ninety-nine percent of the rest of him. On a good day.

Bahorel’s eyes sweep through the room and eventually land on Feuilly and the armful of twelve-year old clinging to his neck.

“Oh fuck, there’s more of them,” he says but it sounds kind of delighted. “What are all these gingers doing in my fucking coffee shop.”

“Not your coffee shop,” Montparnasse mutters.

Bahorel momentarily turns away from Feuilly who carefully sets Gavroche to the ground, and raises an eyebrow. “... or _is_ it?”

Montparnasse blinks.

That is… huh.

But Bahorel has already turned away again. He grins at Feuilly who looks him up and down once, scrutinizing.

“So, you’re the baker Parnasse talked about.”

Bahorel’s grin widens when he looks back to Montparnasse. “Awww babe, you talk about me?”

Montparnasse doesn’t dignify that with an answer but he hopes that Bahorel knows he should be very, very glad that there are children present. He probably isn’t though because he simply winks and turns back to Feuilly.

“Well, he didn’t talk about you, so can I have a name here or should I keep calling you ginger shit?”

Feuilly’s eyes narrow, just a little. “I don’t know, baker asshole, _can_ you?”

Bahorel looks positively delighted. “Oh, there’s a fiery one. Get it? Fiery? Because…?” He gestures at Feuilly’s hair. Feuilly looks like he debates biting off his hand. Montparnasse thinks it’s a good look. Relatable.

“His name’s Feuilly,” Gavroche decides to interfere eventually and Bahorel stares at him for a second, two seconds, then breaks out into roaring laughter.

“Oh my god, you gotta be kidding me. That. Is. _Amaze_!”

Feuilly doesn’t look amazed.

Good.

 

***

 

“Hey y’all!” Bahorel announces himself without regard to volume control as he steps out of the kitchen.

Marius tries to cover up his startled squeak with a cough and Cosette pats his back as she tries not to smile.

“Did he just say ‘y’all’?” Feuilly asks.

Jehan nods. “Yes, he did. He does that.”

Bahorel doesn’t acknowledge the exchange and makes his way over to the table near the counter that they’re sitting at to put down a plate with a plain looking cheesecake. “I made a little something for you, well, not for all of you. You-,” he turns to Cosette, “- have the great honour of getting a special something.”

He puts a small plate in front of her, on it a cupcake with light pink frosting that matches the new colour of her hair.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says before she can say anything and hands out forks for everyone. “First, eating.”

Montparnasse catches Jehan’s eyes as they take a bite of the cake. Their mouth curls up into a smile that looks like it’s very close to a grin if they weren’t trying to hold it back and Montparnasse frowns.

Something.

Something seems suspicious.

He can’t quite put his finger on it.

Bahorel grins.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” Marius says around a mouthful of cake.

Jehan smiles wider.

Feuilly frowns as well. “What is this?”

“Cheesecake,” Bahorel answers sweetly like that’s obvious.

“What kind of cheesecake?”

Bahorel smiles at him, looks around the people at the table, looks back at Feuilly and grins.

“Triple ginger.”

Marius chokes on his cake.

Jehan starts giggling beautifully and Feuilly sighs like all the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

 

***

 

Since the kitchen momentarily has turned into a ‘Do not enter if you value your life and happiness’ - zone after Enjolras and Grantaire had an argument slash foreplay about something probably political that Montparnasse tuned out after ten seconds, Bahorel lounges against the counter where Courfeyrac slides over another Americano to Feuilly.

Brad, the usually-but-not-that-often-anymore stoned college kid stares into the nothingness of the air with a far away look on his face.

Montparnasse doesn’t know if that’s because he’s actually stoned again for once or just his usual expression.

“So,” Bahorel starts and turns to Feuilly. “Do I have to expect a girlfriend around my coffee shop anytime soon or what?”

Montparnasse almost doesn’t notice he’s talking because he’s too busy glaring at the way the cut of his shirt perfectly accentuates the broadness of his shoulders.

“Not your coffee shop,” he says.

Bahorel smirks and ignores him in favour of winking at Feuilly who simply rolls his eyes.

“That’s -,” he begins but is interrupted.

“Incredibly heteronormative since you automatically assume he has a girlfriend when it could as well be a boyfriend or someone not fitting the established gender binarity,” Brad says.

Montparnasse blinks.

Bahorel blinks.

“Yeah,” Feuilly says. “That.”

Courfeyrac nods approvingly. “Very good, Brad, very good. But… didn’t you forget a part there?”

Brad’s left eye twitches nervously. “Uhm… he, uhm… could also be on the asexual or aromantic spectrum? Because sexual attraction doesn’t equal romantic attraction? So, uhm, you could, you know, ask if he has or is currently looking for a significant other?”

Courfeyrac beams.

“Huh,” Bahorel says. “Yeah, that.”

Feuilly sighs but because he’s a better person than Montparnasse will ever be, actually answers. “No, no significant other. At the moment.”

Bahorel grins. “Well, look at that. Three dudes being single. Fucking tragedy, am I right? Man, we should something about that.”

“Actually,” Brad pipes up, “I’d be more comfortable if you could maybe not call me dude? I mean I think I might be identifying as more… genderfluid so uhm, they/them pronouns would be like, cool?”

Montparnasse blinks.

Nope, not less surprising the second time.

Courfeyrac clutches his heart. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you!”

“Sure thing,” Bahorel says and claps Brad’s shoulder. It’s probably supposed to be encouraging. It looks kind of painful but Brad smiles.

Montparnasse didn’t even know they _could_ smile.

Suddenly something comes to his attention that he didn’t notice early because he was too distracted by the fruits of Courfeyrac’s education.

He looks at Feuilly, Brad and Bahorel.

“Wait, what did you mean, _three_ single people? What about me?”

Bahorel just grins, Feuilly bites down onto his lip and Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, exasperated but amused.  

“ _What?!_ ”

No one answers but Bahorel bursts out laughing and Montparnasse kind of wants to break the coffee machine on his head.

 

***

 

“And _then_ -,” Gavroche says dramatically and continues telling some story about Feuilly that makes Courfeyrac clutch to Combeferre’s hand, Marius’s mouth hang open and Grantaire pat Enjolras’s arm soothingly who looks like he’s close to hyperventilating.

When Gavroche ends there’s a chorus of, ‘No way’s (Grantaire and Courfeyrac) and ‘Oh my god’s (Marius and Combeferre) and ‘He did that?’ (Enjolras, awestruck, kind of choked).

The door opens.

Everyone in the room silences and turns to Feuilly who pauses halfway to wrapping the scarf from his neck. “What?”

The silence stretches.

Montparnasse almost jumps out of his skin when Bahorel behind him says, “Jesus, get the man a coffee or something, Parnasse.” His voice sounds kind of weird. Scratchy.

Montparnasse didn’t even realize he was there.  

“Not my boss,” he murmurs but turns around to make an Americano for a confused looking Feuilly.

“Or am I?” Bahorel says but before Montparnasse can reply he’s already disappeared into the kitchen again.

 

***

 

When Montparnasse comes into the coffee shop for one of his afternoon shifts a couple of days later he comes in to Bahorel shouting.

Which is well, not a very irregular occurrence actually.

“Oh my god, I can’t fucking do this anymore!”

New is the part where Feuilly shouts back. “So what? You’re giving up?”

Bahorel has leapt from a chair at a table in the back where Feuilly is sitting pointedly calm but his skin is a tinge more red than usual, closer to the colour of his hair.

“You wish,” Bahorel snaps, his eyes narrowed, “I’m just going to get us something to eat because you bet this is going to take a fucking while, fucker.”

And then he storms off into the kitchen.

Montparnasse slowly follows him until the counter hearing Feuilly mumble something catching the words ‘God’ and ‘stop’ and ‘fuck’.

He tries to keep the glee out of his voice when he casually asks Courfeyrac, “So, what’s that about?”

Bahorel comes back with two pieces of chocolate cake and completely ignores everyone else.

“Well,” Courfeyrac starts. “Actually, it’s about…. who loves ‘The Princess and the Frog’ more.”

There.

 _That’s_ the reason Montparnasse doesn’t believe the things that come out of Courfeyrac’s mouth.

“You _got_ to be kidding me,” he says just when he hears Bahorel let out what can only be described as an affronted gasp.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN’T BE A MOTHERFUCKING PRINCESS?!”

 

***

 

Montparnasse unties his apron and runs a hand through his hair.  
It’s late and his hair pretty much feels like a mess and he’s going to have to hurry or he’ll be late for Jehan’s poetry slam because he definitely has to change first.

He glances at Feuilly who looks like he’s about to fall asleep on top of his books but stubbornly refuses to do so.

“Hey,” he says and Feuilly looks up. “Can I get you anything else before I leave?”

The other man shakes his head with half of a smile. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

Yeah. Sure.

“Just, go home or something at one point, will you?”

The smile widens a little. “Don’t worry.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Feuilly turns back to his book and Montparnasse bits down onto his lip. Then he turns around and walks into the kitchen.

“Hey.”

Bahorel looks at Montparnasse, then around, then back at Montparnasse. “Oh, you’re talking to me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve got to go just…,” he pauses for a second and well.

Bahorel is around and Montparnasse knows, somewhere, in the very back of his brain, not that he would admit it, that Bahorel is actually, kind of, not a bad person.

“Feuilly’s still around so just, make sure he doesn’t collapse or something, he sometimes you know, doesn't take care. So. Yeah. And try not to kill each other.”

The taken-aback look on Bahorel’s face makes him look a lot younger and the moment stretches while Montparnasse waits for an answer.

Eventually Bahorel shrugs. “Sure thing,” he says, his expression back to normal, a smirk, a laugh in his eyes. “But, man, did I just hear you _worrying_?”

And there’s the reminder why Montparnasse can’t stand him.

It’s a lot easier.

“Fuck off,” he snaps and stalks back out of the kitchen.

Bahorel’s laugh follows him out.

 

***

 

The next morning Montparnasse is actually in a good mood for a morning shift. In comparison to his usual mood. It’s about nine and he has only insulted two people and one was Courfeyrac trying to talk to him at 7am so that doesn’t really count.

Combeferre reads a newspaper with his glasses sliding from his nose every now and then like he’s an eighty-year-old grandfather.

Montparnasse wasn’t aware people were actually still reading newspapers.  
Marius and Cosette share a piece of strawberry pie while they’re looking at apartments on Cosette’s laptop like 21st-century people.

The ringing of the bell when the door opens is still obnoxious as ever but Montparnasse only glares at it instead of entertaining thoughts of throwing things for once.

“Morning!” Feuilly says, a smile on his face, his hair ruffled from the wind outside.

He gets a chorus of ‘Mornings’ in response when Bahorel steps out of the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked cherry scones.

“Look who’s back,” he grins. “Can’t get enough of this place, can ya?”

Feuilly smiles mildly. “Well, Parnasse does make a mean Americano.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Bahorel puts down the tray and shakes his head. “Dude. That’s just, cruel. I’m hurt here.”

Montparnasse is about to roll his eyes and call him a freaking drama queen when Feuilly sighs.

“Shut up,” he says with a smile that is almost …. fond and Montparnasse doesn’t even has the time to wrap his head around _that_ fact because Feuilly reaches over the counter for Bahorel’s apron, closes his eyes and kisses him.

He has to tilt his head up a little and one of Bahorel’s hand cups his jaw while the other one gently glides between the strands of red hair.

Montparnasse drops the cup he’s been holding in his hand.

It’s a fitting sound effect to his current state of mind.

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

Bahorel and Feuilly break apart, or less break, but softly drift away from each other, not much, just so Feuilly doesn’t have to stand on his tiptoes anymore.

Montparnasse stares, blinks, looks around and everyone is smiling. Looks back. Still the same.

Bahorel grins. Feuilly seems to be blushing.

“Aww, finally guys,” Marius practically coos and Montparnasse spins around so quickly that he’s feeling a little bit dizzy but maybe that just, well, the world losing it’s goddamn freaking mind.

“ _What_ did you just say, Maxwell?!”

Marius swallows. “Uhm. Just that, I mean, they’ve been flirting the whole time and, well, we’ve all been waiting that, you know…”

“But they hate-,” Montparnasse starts and then stops.

It’s like life rushing past you right in the second before you die.

It’s.

“ _Oh my god!_ ”

It’s incredibly, awfully, terribly obvious.

“Parnasse,” Feuilly starts but he holds up a finger silencing him effectively.

“No, nope, no, no, no.” He takes a deep breath, tries to think that... “No, no. Just. No. No.”

“Okay, I think you broke him,” Courfeyrac chimes in and grabs Montparnasse’s hand patting it soothingly. He lets him. “But guys, we’re super happy for you, that’s amazing. But really, you guys were pining the whole time, how the hell did that happen?”

“Well…,” Feuilly says and, to Montparnasse’s utter horror, blushes.

Bahorel takes his hand. “Actually,” he starts, “Gotta thank Parnasse for that.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Bahorel simply grins. “Well, you fucked off yesterday evening and when I was about to leave that one-” he pulls Feuilly closer ruffling his hair “- fell asleep on his books and I mean, you told me to take care of him and he looked like he could use the sleep so I couldn’t wake him up, also it was like super adorable. So yeah, I kinda stayed till he woke up, I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.”  
“Yeah, yeah it was,” Feuilly says and Montparnasse can hear the ‘You stayed,’ in the way his voice goes soft.

“Okay,” Bahorel smiles. “Anyways, he’s kind of really hot when he just woke up.”

“Oh my god,” Feuilly groans but it sounds at least half like a laugh.

The point is, because Montparnasse usually doesn’t talk much, the difference between when he doesn’t talk and when he’s actually speechless isn’t really apparent.

But he is.

He really is fucking speechless.

That is until Bahorel turns to him and smirks. “So, you have dibs on best man. I’ll even let you chose your own outfit even though you know, those pants don’t exactly make your case.”

“ _Oh, fuck you._ ”

“Nah, we gotta leave that to the redheads right?”

Marius chokes on thin air and Montparnasse is, well, obviously not at his best from today - but who can blame him, alright - because he has to take two deep breaths and swallow once before turning to Feuilly.

“That’s it. That’s where you chose to put your affections.”

The other man smiles. “I know.”

And to Montparnasse’s relief, he looks completely happy about that.

Which is. Good.

Montparnasse sighs.

“Alright,” he says and he thinks he might just remember Feuilly’s smile then for a long time. He turns to Bahorel. “But don’t you dare think that means you’re allowed to call me ‘bro’.”

Bahorel looks at him, head cocked to the side, eyes thoughtful.

“Agreed,” he says solemnly. “What about ‘mate’?”

It takes the united strength of Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Cosette to keep Montparnasse away from him after that.

  
***

**Author's Note:**

> You're always welcome to say hi and talk to me about the angel that is Feuilly and other french darlings on [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Life and Times of a Sullen Coffee Shop Employee (Series)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988976) by [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle)




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